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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28848360">What's My Age Again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten'>RebaK1tten</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, messing with Stiles' head, what's with werewolves' ages anyway?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:02:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28848360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles finds a picture and wonders if it's Peter. </p>
<p>Peter is about as helpful as expected.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>310</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What's My Age Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter’s in the kitchen pouring his expensive olive oil into an empty bottle from even more expensive wine.</p>
<p>“It’s prettier,” he explained to Stiles the first time he was asked about it. “Lovely bottle and lovely label – why waste it?”</p>
<p>Saturday morning is Peter’s time to clean up the kitchen and plan what he’ll make for the weekend. It’s Stiles’ time to sit in part or all of his pajamas, drinking his pot of coffee while he plays on his phone. He’ll usually surface around one and their conversation over lunch lets Peter know what particular hole in the internet Stiles went down earlier.</p>
<p>Now they both know more than needed about the foreshadowing in the Final Destination movies.</p>
<p>This time it’s odd though. Peter’s not cooking anything and with their open concept floor plan, he’s able to smell Stiles’ confusion and anxiety. Looking over the countertop, he’s about to ask if his mate wants a coffee refill when he sees Stiles dive for his laptop.</p>
<p>This is usually not good.</p>
<p>“Darling, are you alright?”</p>
<p>Stiles squints at him in a way that Peter thinks is supposed to look suspicious, but actually just looks like he may sneeze. “Are <em>you</em> alright?”</p>
<p>No, this is not good.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With Stiles’ bowl of dry cheerios and a full cup of coffee for each, they sit at opposite ends of the couch, laptop between them.</p>
<p>He pops a couple pieces of cereal into his mouth and types, glancing up at Peter now and then. “Okay, you said you went to Berkeley, right? For college, right?”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes I did. I believe we went over this. I went to UC Berkeley, and that is why I’m qualified to teach high school science, and no, I am not getting a job again.” Peter taught school for a little while, mostly out of boredom. After two years he realized that his sister’s children are no more horrible than other children, but they were all horrible and he quit. “If you want to play teacher-student, we’ll figure something out, but I’m not getting a job so you can blow me under the desk.”</p>
<p>“One, hold that thought. Two, take a look at this page and tell me what you think.”</p>
<p>Peter looks at the screen, a picture of protesters at the Berkeley campus during the Vietnam war. “Okay.” He shrugs and says, “I think that’s a picture of the streets of Berkeley during a protest. What am I supposed to think?”</p>
<p>It’s hard to have his full gravitas while spitting out cheerios, but Stiles looks deadly serious sipping his coffee. “Down in the lower right-hand corner. Tell me what you see?”</p>
<p>Peter holds the screen closer to his face, and yes, he also increased the size of the picture. Derek may be a luddite, but it’s not all Hales. And no, it doesn’t make any more sense than it did the first time he looked.</p>
<p>Stiles grabs the laptop, and soon it’s back in Peter’s lap focused on just a few people. He puts the laptop back on Peter’s lap and leans over it, pointing at the screen. “This guy. Does something look familiar about this guy.”</p>
<p>Oh. Oh, that’s interesting. And Stiles’ smell is all over the place, so Peter can’t even guess how to play this. “It seems he resembles me a bit. Odd, but they say we all have a doppelganger, hmm?”</p>
<p>“A doppelganger?” Stiles slumps next to him on the couch, head back and eyes shut. He rubs his face like an exhausted toddler and says, “How old are you really, Peter? I mean, you’ve all said that werewolves age differently, and I found a couple of your old driver’s licenses with different years of birth…”</p>
<p>Golden opportunity, handed to him on a plate. What to do, what to do. Was there ever any doubt?</p>
<p>“My darling, are you asking if that’s me? Are you asking if I was a 20-year old at a Vietnam War protest in 19-fucking-68?” He looks at the picture again and rolls his eyes, because it is a bit insulting. “Do you think I’d wear a flowered, chartreuse Nehru jacket? And a <em>headband</em>?” he hisses, shoving the laptop back towards Stiles. “Honestly, I’m not certain what is the most insulting part of this!”</p>
<p>Stiles shuts the laptop and sits back. “You haven’t said it’s not you.”</p>
<p>“Do I have to?” Peter asks. Stiles scent is worried and curious and there’s a bit of anxiety and a bit of that strange interested-joy scent he gets when he finds out something completely weird. Peter couldn’t love him any more. “I find your obsession with my age, and werewolf ages in general, depressing. Isn’t it enough that we’re well matched? You’re getting older and more handsome and I’m… perfect as I am.”</p>
<p>“So you’re just going to be your usual asshole self and not tell me how old you are and not even tell me that this picture is not you?” The dust from the cereal sticks to the screen where Stiles is poking at the picture of the protester. Probably from whatever he was drinking earlier that somehow sprayed the screen, creating sticky fingerprints.</p>
<p>Peter sighs and finishes his coffee, taking Stiles’ cup as he gets off the couch. “I was thinking gnocchi for dinner tonight, what do you think? Maybe just with browned butter and some fresh herbs. Sound good?’</p>
<p>Stiles shuts the laptop and scrubs his eyes. He stands and shakes his head all the way to the bedroom. After a few minutes, he’s back out, dressed in weekend clothes, clean but definitely not what he wears to work as a Beacon County Sheriff’s deputy. “I’m going out,” he says, and tucks the laptop into his backpack, a rugged-looking leather one Peter gave him for his birthday a year or so ago. Stiles bitched originally, but after Peter dragged it through the preserve and then buried it for a week, his husband agreed it was sufficiently aged.</p>
<p>“Can I ask where you’re going?” He’s not worried, not really. Stiles loves a mystery and if he ever gets really upset, Peter will certainly tell him the secrets of werewolf aging and that he’s actually about 25 years older than Stiles, although that’s not what his driver’s license says. And with the way werewolves age, there’s a fair chance Peter will outlive his spouse, but he’s more than willing to risk that. Something he really doesn’t want to discuss or think about. But this is what he agreed to when he married a human. “Should I plan dinner at seven?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I’m just gonna go to Derek’s for a bit. You know, hang out, just not…”</p>
<p>“Not be here?” Peter asks, and tugs on the bond deep in his chest, tying him to everyone in his pack, but mostly his mate. Checking that everything underneath, at the core of them is okay. Sending love and mate and safety and passion and everything else he can think of. “Sure.”</p>
<p>Stiles smiles and his scent is a cloud of exasperation/affection – the ‘mated to Stiles’ smell. “Home later, sneaky wolf.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter listens to the jeep drive away. It’s much quieter than when they started seeing each other. Yes, Peter waited until Stiles was 18 until he suggested that perhaps they could have dinner. Dinner and not talk about monsters or lore or the shitshow that Beacon Hills is.</p>
<p>Stiles did that squished up eyes thing and asked, “What would we talk about?”</p>
<p>Peter sighed and was about to say, ‘Never mind’ when Stiles jumped into his arms, assuming Peter would catch him.</p>
<p>“This is either great or embarrassing,” Stiles muttered into Peter’s lips.</p>
<p>“Great,” Peter answered, chewing the first of many bruises into Stiles’ neck.</p>
<p>A few years and a rebuilt jeep. Peter caught him then will catch him always.</p>
<p>In between that, however…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Derek? It’s your favorite Uncle, Peter. Put the phone on speaker, I want to talk with you and Cora.”</p>
<p>There’s a sigh and Peter can picture the dramatic eye roll from his nephew. Really, where does that come from?</p>
<p>“Hi, Peter, what’s up?” Cora asks. She’s not quite as suspicious as her brother, probably because she’s more like him. Derek, unfortunately, is more like Saint Sebastian, complete with homoerotic undertones.</p>
<p>“Stiles is on his way to your house, possibly to vent or possibly to pry. He found a picture online of my Uncle Philip – do you remember him?”</p>
<p>There’s a few seconds before Derek asks, “Grampa’s brother, yeah, I remember him. He was around sometimes during the holidays. What about him?”</p>
<p>“Stiles is under the impression that a picture he’s found on-line of Uncle Phil is me. He’s on his way to grill you about it. Well, maybe he’s going to whine about how awful I am in general about the ways of the wolf.” Even through the phone he can scent Cora’s delight. “If he asks and you want to neither confirm or deny the picture –“</p>
<p>Cora’s laugh interrupts him. “Oh my god, you married such a goober, Peter!”</p>
<p>It sounds like she might choke, and that’s just fine with him. “Why thank you, Cora. Your spouse is also… oh that’s right, you’re not mated, are you? Sad, so sad.”</p>
<p>“Come on, you’re both children. And assholes,” Derek says, and it’s very butch, in Peter’s opinion. “Permission to mess with Stiles for a bit? I’m in. Cora will behave herself mostly.”</p>
<p>“Oh, right!” She calls out and there’s the incoming beep on Peter’s phone, announcing a text. “I sent you a picture of a marine in The Gulf War. I thought he looked a lot like Derek and I was thinking about making sure Stiles stumbled on it.”</p>
<p>The picture does looks like Derek, in a generic kind of way. Add a few years and the current Derek could have been that gentle 20-year old. Peter sends the picture Stiles was looking at, smiling to himself at Uncle Philip and his horrible fashion sense.</p>
<p>There’s a second before Derek says, “Wow, yeah, you do look like this guy will look in a few years.” He huffs and says, “You know what I mean. I can see where Stiles gets his paranoia.”</p>
<p>“And you’ll add to it, gently?” Peter asks. Over the phone, he can hear Stiles’ jeep. Faint, but he’d know it anywhere.</p>
<p>Cora laughs and says, “You’re horrible and when he kills you, we’re going to support him, you know that, right?”</p>
<p>“If he ever choses to kill me, I’d accept it with thanks. Because if he ever left me it would be so much worse.”</p>
<p>“You’re a drama queen, but we’ll return him only slightly scalded,” Cora whispers, and in the background he can hear Derek saying hello to Stiles, to Peter’s mate.</p>
<p>Maybe Peter will look into teaching for a semester or at least setting up the role-play for Stiles’ little fantasy.</p>
<p>He might be a dick, but after all, he’s not a total dick.  </p>
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